


All The Unhappy Endings

by Hawkstar1999 (orphan_account)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: College, I spell Viktor with a k, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, Wedding Plans, except not really because im a bad writer, i should use the tags for the right purpose but i dont, its sad, they dont end up together, they dont even kiss, they kiss at least twice in the second one, which is why i didnt ship them, with the slash mark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:23:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Hawkstar1999
Summary: I can't write summaries especially for one-shot style things, but they all have sad endings and there are two now and probably more.





	1. One Singular Fool in Love

_When I was younger, I was in love._  
•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•

Viktor had loved skating with Yakov, but he had always been jealous of the younger Japanese skater who always received more of the man's care and attention. Yakov was always with Yuuri, had recruited Yuuri to join their program, and it wasn't fair! Viktor had had to beg to even get a chance to work with Yakov, and Yuuri had practically been handed the best coach in all the world on a silver platter, just because he had 'shown promise' during some dumb competition in some tiny town in Japan. How did Yakov even know about that competition?

He had hated Yuuri. Passionately. He ignored him on purpose when they were together alone, and only begrudgingly shared small talk with him when someone older was around to reprimand him for manners. It wasn't like it mattered, he was a prodigy. The best skater Russia had ever seen, with long hair and blue eyes and the smile of an angel- heart shaped. People bowed at his feet like he was a king, especially in those circles where figure skating was a followed sport. Even people who didn't follow figure skating knew him though, he was on the news all the time. 

On the news for winning a new event. When it was international, it was for Mother Russia. When it was national, it was just to show how brilliant their prodigy was, beating people with more practice just because he had more talent in his left pinky finger than they had in their entire body. He knew Yuuri was good, but he was Viktor Nikiforov. He was better. 

Maybe he had to beg for Yakov, but- so did everyone else here. Mila, Georgi, all of them. 

Everyone begged for Yakov except the dumb Japanese kid who couldn't even remember that 'Da' meant 'yes'. He had tried to teach him Russian, had tried to teach him words and sentences. He couldn't pick up small things like 'Eto Yuuri' or 'Yakov, eto ne moi konek.' He had learned the same things in Japanese quickly, when Yakov told them Yuuri was coming, to make the skater more comfortable in a new country, a new culture. How could it be so hard to learn 'I am Yuri' and 'Yakov, this is not my skate.' He hadn't even made him try plurals! 

And Yuuri always stayed after his practice was over to watch Viktor and comment on his short programs. He would say mean things to Viktor, secret insults like 'Try holding your back straighter like a ballerina. That's what Minako taught me!' It wasn't Viktor's fault he didn't have a private ballet instructor at home! He wasn't from some weird magic town in Japan where everyone's dreams came true. He was in Russia, where the cold bit into your bones and dragged you down into the frozen dirt tirelessly, leaching the life from you with bitter wind that made your cheeks sting red. 

It took him months to get used to Yuuri. Because Yuuri wasn't beaten down by Russian winters and Russian skating coaches who made you cry. He was bright and happy and always kind, and Viktor began to feel bad for hating him. Because the comments that had seemed like insults began to show what they really were- advice and compliments, something that so many skaters were always asking for. And Viktor had ignored Yuuri for giving it to him, and Yuuri still hadn't stopped. Yuuri was like an angel.  

They skated at the same rink for two years, Viktor winning Juniors the year after Yuuri came, and they danced together after Yakov left almost every night. Holding hands on the ice and skating around in circles, laughing as Viktor attempted lifts with Yuuri. They did it for months, and never thought anything of it. Viktor won the Juniors, and he was high on happiness for weeks after, dancing on the ice with Yuuri every night. 

Anyone who looked at them could tell they were in love, but they were only 16 and 14, they hardly knew what love was. Viktor was supposed to go into Seniors, Yuuri was skating his first year at Juniors, and the two were dancing on the ice when something went wrong. Viktor was lifting Yuuri when he slipped. 

The way the Russian's leg crumpled underneath them, the sound of the snap, the blood on the ice and the bone sticking out of his leg.

They knew Viktor's skating was over.

Yuuri left for Detroit a week later. When he left, he stole a kiss from Viktor, and left a note, a simple _'i love you_ ', behind him. 

•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•

He had gone to college in America after the accident, after he completed high school, his education so far behind his classmates that he could hardly even get into a college in the US. He only made it by pulling his 'professional athlete that lost everything' card, and promised that he would work so much harder than everyone else so he could succeed. (And perhaps a grin and a sly wink at a pretty lady or two helped his case. He'd never known flirtation to hinder him.) 

He got a job in a cafe just near campus, where he worked with a man named Christophe who always showed up to work hungover, even if his shift was at 3PM on a Tuesday. Viktor had questioned it at first, but he had come to accept Christophe's antics and flirty behavior as just another part of the college experience he had been promised. It was the only thing he desired, when Yakov had asked him what they would do. He wasn't rich, but he was still fairly well off from the few sponsorships he had before the accident, and his family had been rich before too- they were more than willing to pay for his college education when he told Yakov it was what he wanted. 

He had entered school under a pseudonym, just so curious classmates wouldn't get the full tragic background of Viktor Nikiforov if they were to google him. But his classes were fun (though he did have to work a lot harder, the language barrier and his subpar high school education both making the experience so much worse than it could have been)

But Chris was always there with hot tea to help him write an essay. It was shameful to admit that a hungover man could write a better essay than Viktor ever would, hsi writing failing him even more in English, a second language that seemed to have a limitless vocabulary, and none of the words made sense. 

He'd almost failed a test in English when the question put before him had said: 

Which is pronounced differently?  
        a) Red  
        b) Read  
        c) Reed 

He'd even gone to Chris for help and the man had complained and taken more Tylenol before telling him to never ask the question again. The teacher had just laughed at him during office hours- not maliciously- and that was when he realized the entire test had been a joke. A joke played on him most likely, the clueless Russian man. Americans seemed to hate Russian people, he could feel the eyes that followed him on campus, the distasteful way his last name rolled off their tongues. (Not Nikiforov, but they seemed to hate Kuznetsov just as much) 

It surprised him when he was working alone in the cafe, tinkering with the coffee machine that had been breaking sporadically throughout the last week, just a head of gray hair to anyone who entered. It was almost always the same people on rainy Tuesday, an old lady who would stop by to get a chai tea before returning to her apartment across the street. (He once asked her why she didn't just buy chai tea and make it in her room, and she said it was because she could never make it quite the same way. He'd grinned and said it was the sugar they added, and she'd laughed before leaving, in the same hurrying way she always left.) The only other person was a woman who happened to know exactly who he was the first time she saw him, and she always showed up and ordered the most obscene thing just so she more time to talk with him. (She was gorgeous and kind, but he couldn't help it if he found fans, and women, generally unappealing.) 

He never expected the man with shocking black hair and too-familiar brown eyes to walk in through the door, holding the hand of another man, a man with dark skin and even darker hair. The two seemed to be completely absorbed with each other, and Viktor took the opportunity to duck even further down under the counter so he was invisible. He revealed his hiding place when that same voice he'd heard speak English a hundred times called out a timid "Hello? Anyone here?" 

He shivered and dropped his screwdriver, the clattering sound disturbing the quiet, each clatter another nail being hammered into his coffin. He stuck his head up anyway, forcing a nonchalant smile on his face. "Hello! How can I help you?"

The not-Japanese man screamed. Wait, he couldn't assume it was Yuuri! It could be someone else and Yuuri could still love him despite his failures. He'd even started skating again, not jumps, his leg was too weak to support his weight, but some spins that required both feet and fairly balanced spread of weight, and step sequences too. He could never leave the ice, his first love.

It was painful to breath when he realized his second had left him, and he could feel that same tightness returned just looking at the two men holding hands in his shop. "I'm so sorry," he said, internally bemoaning the flatness with which he spoke. "I can give you your order for free, as an apology for frightening you both. I must have ruined your date!" It was more calculating than he suspected, say it was a date just to here if it was.

"Oh no! Phichit and I are just friends! We just came out for coffee after skating." 

"You skate?" he asked, and paused when he saw the way the man's face fell, like he had been stabbed. How would he know if the men skated? It wasn't like he could see their feet, to inspect for the sores and calluses of skaters. And- oh..

The man was halfway out the door when he shouted, desperate: "Yuuri!" The closing door paused, the man, no Yuuri, sticking his head back inside, smiling. 

"You remember me?"

"Of course. We had plans to get a poodle together! I could never forget our poodle plans."

•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•

It was fun to talk to Yuuri again, and it was Yuuri who made him get on the ice more often, a daily experience instead of a weekly (or more likely monthly) one. He loved the way the ice smelled, the way it flaked under his blades. He had forgotten the way the ice had made him feel, and his short forays onto it had failed to truly bring back the ice to him. It was Yuuri, who was almost too delicate with him at times, who always brought pins to hold Viktor's bangs out of his eyes, who ran his hands through Viktor's hair and untied his skates for him when they got off the ice- it was Yuuri who made him fall in love with the ice.

Spending time with Yuuri though, he came to realize, it wasn't just the ice he loved. No, he still loved Yuuri, even after everything that had happened.

He got his paycheck from the cafe, and bit his lip. He barely had enough money to afford what he wanted, but maybe- if he skated less or worked more hours, he could make it work. It was worth it, of course.

It was hard to get Yuuri's ring measurements, disguising it as needing to get something for Yuuri's birthday, and perhaps a new pair of gloves? Yuuri had blushed and questioned why he needed the measurements anyway, but he'd given in after a surprisingly small amount of Viktor's pestering. And now, he had a box with a golden ring inside, plain and simple but still infinitely beautiful. (Never as beautiful as his Yuuri though) It wasn't an engagement ring, more of a promise. Promise rings were for teenagers, kids who were in love, but he felt he owed it to Yuuri. From when he was 16 and danced with Yuuri. If he could go back in time, he wouldn't change any of it, except- He wouldn't let Yuuri leave. He wouldn't read a note that said ' _I love you,'_ and let the writer slip away.

But apparently he already had. Because when he walked to Yuuri's house, the box discreetly tucked in his coat pocket, he saw the man he loved lean up into a kiss with a handsome man, a soft smile on his Yuuri's lips. And then the man left, and Yuuri was alone.

Alone but for the glittering golden band on his finger.

Alone but for the fact that Yuuri had somehow forgotten to mention a boyfriend of two years to Viktor.

Yuuri had somehow forgotten to mention that he had gotten engaged a day ago.

That the ring had come in late, but his husband had booked everything and had been so nervous he proposed with a mood ring.

And Yuuri had shown him said mood ring while grinning like a fool in love. 

"He's so perfect Viktor! You'll love him when you meet him!"

He left as quickly as he could, hoping to escape Yuuri's questioning gaze and smiles. (smiles that were hopelessly alluring now, and even worse now that he couldn't have them.)

He left Yuuri with a promise for lunch tomorrow, to go skating after. But he never planned to actually go. Instead, he went to the jewelry store, a box with a golden ring in his hand, cheeks burning red as the kind lady at the front comforted him, her stomach swollen with pregnancy, two rings on her finger. She was married.

He was just a fool who fell in love. 

•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•

_I was still in love. He just wasn't mine to love anymore._


	2. He Was Fine (He Wasn't)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri actually date in this one.   
> Viktor is an idiot.
> 
> (not beta-d, or even self-revised. oops?)

Viktor was his own personal heroin- impossibly addictive, easy to overdose on, and deadly. He knew the moment he walked in on the man in the onsen, still overweight and tired from shoveling outside, to see Viktor, completely naked, grinning at him. And he knew the man knew his own appeal, the way he stood up to show off his body, as if he knew he could get whatever he wanted just because he was pretty. (It was a true theory though- he had got what he wanted when he came to the onsen, a student. And he alsmot got his second request- for Yuuri to sleep with him, to reveal his soul to Viktor in the wee hours of the morning, while they lay together on Yuuri’s too-small twin bed, arms wrapped around each other. They’d done the same after the Rostelcom Cup, when Viktor was wearing a golden ring on his finger. When Viktor was his and he wasn’t afraid. They lay together, looking into each other’s eyes and whispering until they couldn’t stay awake anymore, drifting in and out of consciousness to the sounds of the others voice. Viktor’s Japanese was slow and gravelly this late at night, and Yuuri’s Russian near incomprehensible, but they still tried to talk in the others native language until they couldn’t express what they meant anymore, until they switched to English. It was a repeat event until he moved to Russia with Viktor, moved to Viktor’s apartment, and suddenly they weren’t pushed into each other’s arms by the confines of a twin bed, with all the room in the world to lay on a king bed. Yuuri hated it, how Viktor slipped away from him in the night, how Viktor wasn’t always there when he woke up, but he grew used to it. It was just like before, or at least close enough. They still talked at night, they still opened their souls to each other, and took away the guards in their eyes. And whenever he started to doubt them, he would look down at the gold ring on his finger and promise himself that Viktor still loved him.  
It was hard to believe that promise when Viktor had never told him “I love you”. But it wasn’t like he said it constantly to the other man, maybe once in the morning, when he woke up first and made a pot of coffee, waking Viktor up with soft kisses all over his face, each kiss a promise. I’ll love you forever. I’ll always make you coffee. I’ll never stop skating. I’ll never take my eyes off you. I’ll always stay with you. Countless promises. But he wished he could make Viktor promise the same. He didn’t need love: he just wanted Viktor. And he could feel the cracks in their relationship growing everyday, destroying the illusion they had created with each other. Because it was all an illusion, and he had been blind to it.   
He didn’t miss the details, how Viktor never said ‘I love you,’ and never waited for him after practice, how he would usually end up walking with Yurio because Viktor was gone, and how Viktor would stumble home too late at night, smelling like cologne and cheap spirits. He would try to stop Viktor, to ask where he had been, but he was weak, and when Viktor pinned him to the wall and kissed him fervently, he could never make him stop. He let himself lose control. In the morning, Viktor would be asleep besides him, looking soft and tired, like nothing ever happened, and he would let it go, releasing everything he held against Viktor into the air. He was in love, and people in love made sacrifices. Viktor wasn’t cheating on him, he still came home, and there were no marks but Yuuri’s on his skin. (Though he left more and more every night to ward off whoever it was that was taking his Viktor’s evenings) He could deal with this, being the person Viktor returned to after the day was over- what more could he have wanted? At root, he was just a lucky fan, tagging on Viktor’s coat tails like a child clutching his mothers hand in a crowded place. He was probably too clingy, that must be why Viktor was distancing himself, but if he distanced himself in exchange, wouldn’t he lose Viktor anyway?   
The illusion fell apart the night they were supposed to celebrate their two year anniversary. He was waiting at the restaurant, Viktor almost an hour late for the reservation, when a message pinged across his phone. He hadn’t thought much of it at first, a simple message from Phichit, until he realized what was attached. There was a photo of Viktor kissing a gorgeous model, Viktor’s face turned away from the camera. It wasn’t like Yuuri needed Viktor’s face to identify him now, he had seen those clothes in a closet everyday for a year, had even bought the pants for Viktor himself when he found out the man didn’t own a single pair of jeans. And from the time stamp on the picture, Viktor was cheating on him with someone else right now, skipping their anniversary dinner. But he could deal with Viktor cheating on him, he loved Viktor, and it was probably just a hug or something. Because Viktor loved him, they were engaged! He went home, waiting for hours for the man to stumble home.  
And he did, finally, at 2AM, his hair matted and cheeks flushed red, hardly walking straight and eyes glazed over. Yuuri winced when he saw Viktor’s subtle look of contempt when he spotted him, quickly covered with a smile, his dumb camera smile that Yuuri hated. “Yuuuri,” the drunk man slurred, staggering towards him. He stretched his hands out towards him, and Yuuri saw, with the movement, that there was no ring on his hand. It was like being shot, like being stabbed, like dying, falling and twisting and going insane. It wasn’t just a fashion statement, it was a promise, the one piece holding together their illusion of a perfect relationship. And as much as he wanted to stay, to claim Viktor as his own, to take him back from the pretty model who had stolen him, he couldn’t do it now. He couldn’t sit there and let everything that happened be covered up with kisses and camera-smiles, hiding the rubble that was their relationship with cheap wood and tarps, as if a bandaid could fix a bullet through the head. Viktor had almost caught him now, stumbling across the room like the monster in a horror movie. He had been mistaken, hadn’t he? It had never been love. It had all been an illusion.  
He ran. Out of the apartment, into the ice cold of the Russian winters, the wind slamming into the bare skin of his arms and leaving behind a stinging layer of goose bumps. He could feel the beginnings of a blizzard around him, the harsh winds that carried ice with them, enough to freeze over his heart, to bring him back into one piece after he was just shattered. He couldn’t pick up the pieces anymore. He should just die, and now he had the chance. Who would notice him if he hid, if he let his fingers slowly turn blue as the world around him turned to ice? He could feel himself walking, a path he was well-acquainted with, turn left at the store, walk 3 blocks, turn right at the café, and walk straight until you ran into the ice rink. He could walk it with his eyes closed, if not for the constant stream of pedestrians. It scared him, the steady flow of Russian around him, a language so coarse and different from his own. It had been such a good illusion, hadn’t it? A private coach who loved him. A new country where he was accepted and loved by all those around him. He would live through it all again, he would never give up what he had with Viktor. He was an idiot, but what they had- it had been perfect.   
It had never been love on Viktor’s side, and perhaps that’s why they never moved forward. He had never asked, when he won gold at Worlds and Viktor had kissed him on live television and announced they were planning the wedding. People still asked him how long it would be until the wedding, asked what the theme would be, asked about the best man and bride’s maids and all those other traditional wedding tropes. (They had only discussed it once, and Viktor had said he wanted a traditional Christian wedding, and Yuuri would always give Viktor what he wanted. It had never been a discussion the moment Viktor said he wanted it.) But perhaps part of him could feel the emptiness between them, had held him back from pushing forward the plans more. It would all be worse if they were married. Engagement he could back out of with a fair amount of ease, and that’s what he was going to do. His ring was a burning reminder of what had been, something he had become so comfortable with now pressing against his finger near painfully. His palms were sweating, despite all the cold, and he understood what it was like to fall apart slowly now. He had been destroyed already, now he had to crumble. The rink was closed, but he knew where they hid the spare key, in case one of their more famous clients were to need late night practice, of course- and then he was in, hands fumbling with the lock for far too long, as if he were going to rob the place. He wanted to get rid of the ring graciously, to honor it for what it had represented, to thank it for the safety it had given him before it all fell apart.   
He could never honor it. It was impossible for him to become one again, to lose Viktor’s touch on his skin and just be Yuuri again. He smelled like Viktor, sharing his shampoo and sleeping in his sheets, always surrounded by the man. He wanted to lose it all, to go home and be himself again, and their was no way to thank the ring now that he wanted it gone. And he decided that he couldn’t allow the illusion anymore. He walked onto the ice in street shoes, disregarding every rule he had ever known about ice, sinking to his knees and letting tears drip down his face. His sobs quickly grew in volume, until his entire body was shaking with racking breaths as he poured out his soul onto the ice. And then he screamed, letting the sound rip from his chest and tear against his vocal cords, destroying himself from the inside. And he threw the ring, listening to the metallic boom of its sound, the echoes of his scream surrounding them.   
He wanted to go home, but he didn’t even know what home was anymore. Viktor had been his home for so long. How did he ever let his home become tied to a body instead of a house. People moved, houses didn’t. It could have been one year ago or ten, what he had done with Viktor was stupid and unprofessional. He wasn’t ready to go back, his heart still broken and raw, everything even more wrong with the loss of his ring. He went back anyway, leaving the golden ring behind to be swallowed by the ice. The ice had held his heart before Viktor, and it could take it back. The ice could freeze his heart into one delicate piece, could lock him out of the rest of the world. He could never be the same Yuuri again, not even with Minako and Mari, his mother and father, Yurio and Yakov. He loved them, but they could never fix his heart. The only person who had access to his heart was Viktor, and even now he could feel himself pulling away, could feel the ice stinging across his nose and wiping away his tears, promising him a happiness through the cold and ice. He would skate for lost love this season, and betrayal the next. Then, he would move on.   
Viktor was waiting for him when he got home, standing close to the door with his head down and his hands behind his back, much like a kicked puppy. Yuuri brushed past him, ignoring the way the man grasped for his arm, refusing to acknowledge Viktor’s choked: “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” He would tell him in time, but for now, he wanted to just leave, to go home to Japan and hold his mother and sister and father and just let himself forget.. They would ask about Viktor, about the home the two had shared, and he would tell them. It was all planned, two years more of skating and then it could all be over. He didn’t even know what he wanted to end anymore, his skating career, his time with Viktor, his life?   
When he left the room, bags packed and ready to go, Viktor didn’t try to stop him. Not really. He had just stopped by Yuuri at the door and hugged him, tensing when Yuuri didn’t hug back. “I’m sorry,” he had admitted, and Yuuri had been ready to yell, to scream, to do anything to even begin to show Viktor the pain he felt. “You still inspire me Yuuri. I’ll always be yours.” He smiled at Yuuri, patting his cheek, and Yuuri shivered. Viktor’s ring was there. “Come back from Hasetsu if you can. Yurio will kill you for not saying goodbye.”  
When Yuuri walked out the door, Viktor sighed, turning back towards the couch where his computer lay. He couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes as he looked at the email he had opened- a short message from the lady he had asked to help with his wedding plans.   
Hey Victor! How are you and Yuuri? I saw that photo that came out of you and Naomi hugging looked really bad, and I wanted to make sure you all were still set for your wedding in March. A spring wedding so the cherry blossoms would be out, just like you asked.   
I’m sure he’s used to email me back if anything has changed, but I’m sure Yuuri is used to media like that, its probably happened a hundred times since you two started dating!  
Victoria  
He knew it didn’t make up for the nights he went out and drank too much, and it would never make up for the time he missed their anniversary dinner. He had planned to tell Yuuri at the dinner, and had gone out, buying a new ring for Yuuri, a silver ring with their anniversary date written on the back. He’d gotten stuck in traffic on the way back from the jewelry shop, and had watched the minutes tick by, stress rising with every minute it went past the time he had promised to meet Yuuri at. By the time he made it to the restaurant, Yuuri was gone. He’d gone and drunk himself into oblivion, a reaction he had to near everything that went wrong, something he should have fixed. But Yuuri was his inspiration, and some things went wrong now and then, but he had always been faithful to his fiancé. Every night they lay together, and smiled at each other, and whispered words into each others ears, just to laugh and laugh until they fell asleep.  
It had been perfect.  
And it was gone.   
They shared a similar theme the next year- a theme of sadness and broken hearts that rivaled even Georgi’s melodramatic skating. Yuuri resolutely ignored him at the following banquet, and Viktor cried into Yurio’s shoulder, the skater reluctantly comforting him (because even the angry teen could see how broken Viktor was) In the room adjacent to theirs, Yuuri called his parents, tears silently dripping down his face while he tried to hide the quiver in his voice. He had to pretend he was fine. 

He wasn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

He was Yuuri Katsuki, he was 23 years old, and he had no idea who he was. That was a lie- he was a _fat, ugly, pig-_ at least according to his greatest idol. And no matter what he did, he was never quite skinny enough to get on the ice. He tried as much as he could- eating as little and exercising as much as his close relationship with his coach would let him. His coach who, despite so much work, would never be able to replace Viktor. He had watched Viktor leave with Yurio, barely bothering to toss a smile over his shoulder at Yuuri. He’d driven them to the station, and Viktor...

He had laughed.

He had tossed a hand back flippantly at Yuuri.

He had said: “If we ever meet again, ask for a commemorative photo and I might recognize you.”

He had gone home and cried. Not a lot, but. It was hard to take such complete and utter destruction of everything you had strived for, and the little bits of structure and hope he had built up- all gone in the blink of an eye. Or the flick of a hand- depending on how you looked at it. Mari and his parents hadn’t been very supportive of his complaints, they had pushed and pushed him to go skate again (but what was the point with no coach?). Then they got him a coach (but the man was a discount rate failure who never even made it past nationals to the grand prix.) It was through sheer luck that he won nationals, and made it into Worlds and the Grand Prix.

            And a few weeks later, it was just bitter anger that had him standing in the center, holding a sparkly gold medal and bitterly scowling at the camera. It was success, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Discount coaches and starvation diets didn’t make perfection. If he had skated against Viktor, he would have lost. If he had skated against JJ, he would have lost. Even Phichit could have beaten him if it weren’t for that one mistake in the beginning of his short program. (It had put him off time for the rest of the piece, and ruined his score in comparison to the other competitors.)

            He saw Viktor after and the man waved at him, striding towards him- all lanky legs and silver hair and blue eyes and Yuuri could feel himself melting yet again. He always melted for Viktor. He had skated Eros for Viktor, even if he couldn’t point, and see, and live for Viktor. But he was supposed to hate the man- he was cold and he had left Yuuri. Yuuri had needed him so much more than Yuri had. Yuri already had an award-winning coach and more quads than he did. Then he got left with a washed-up failure of a figure skater and two quads.

            And here he was- Viktor walking towards him.

                        He wasn’t one to be petty.

                        To be angry and to take stuff to heart.

                        To lash out against those who hurt him.

            But when Viktor walked closer to him, still hurrying and grinning, Yuuri put on his best camera smile. “A commemorative photo?” He wasn’t asking a question, wasn’t inviting Viktor back. He was cynical and bitter and every bit resigned to what could have been and what would never be.

            “I always wanted a photo of Yuuri Katsuki.”

            “I suppose you missed the chance. How about you go kiss your pupil’s second place medal on Instagram like the second-rate coach you are?” And he had turned and walked away, refused to look at Viktor again.

If he had stopped to look back, he would have seen Viktor's fragile heart break. He would have seen tears dripping down an otherwise polished face, stark pain painted across a canvas of perfection- cracks breaking through a facade that had never before been cracked. Only Yuuri had the power to break Viktor.

They were soulmates after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't know if any of the people on my other story will read this, but I won't be able to update for a while.  
> Long story short, someone I love a lot is dying, and I honestly don't have any inspiration to write a soulmate story right now? I know the story isn't exactly sappy sappy soulmates, especially with the reveal of Viktor being Yuuri's soulmate coming soon, but it still just isn't working for me right now.  
> I hope you all can understand, if you even see this.  
> And thank you for reading this, people who read my other story and people who haven't!


End file.
